


Royally Flushed

by grantairrible



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Princess Diaries AU, Trans Characters, non-binary characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-12 18:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5676874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantairrible/pseuds/grantairrible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire just wanted to pass Algebra, and maybe somehow date Musichetta's hot older brother, Combeferre. He certainly didn't want to be the prince of Genovia, or be famous.</p><p>(The e/r/c Princess Diaries AU nobody asked for.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic follows closer to the books' storyline than the movie, but it still diverges pretty quickly plot-wise, mostly so I could include les Amis :)))  
> Also!! I have most of this written so updates should happen every weekend, and it should end up being six chapters (unless something weird happens in the last couple of thousand words I have left to write). There aren't many things that should need warnings, but I'll make sure to put any that appear in the notes at the beginning of the chapter.

“Don’t forget, you’re meeting with your father after school.”

Grantaire sighed, in the middle of shoving a heavily scribbled-on textbook into his bag. “Yeah, I won’t. Don’t worry, Maman.”

“Of course I’ll worry.” She said, turning back to making her breakfast. “I know how much you hate the Plaza.”

“Yeah, because they didn’t let me in last time.” Grantaire said. If he didn’t leave soon, he’d be late meeting Musichetta to walk to school together. “I was wearing my uniform, I don’t know what else they want from me.”

His mother glanced at him. “You _could_ do your tie up. And wear shoes that aren’t falling apart. And tuck your shirt in. And maybe you’d let me give you a haircut?”

“Goodbye, Mother.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey there, handsome.” Musichetta called out to him, waving, as Grantaire approached her apartment building. “You’re late.”

“Yeah, well,” Grantaire tried not to glance up at Musichetta’s step brother, Combeferre - he didn’t want his massive, embarrassing crush to be _too_ obvious. “My mother decided to take me to task on my appearance.”

“You look _fine_ , R.” Musichetta elbowed her brother. “Doesn’t he, ‘Ferre?”

Combeferre glanced up from his phone, and Grantaire was sure he was imagining the barely-visible blush along Combeferre’s ridiculously gorgeous cheekbones, blending into his dark skin. “Huh? Oh. Yeah, you just might not be up to dress code.”

Grantaire raked a hand through his curls, which hung past the regulated collar length. “Well, that’s the plan.”

“You could at least _try_ not to get detention.” Combeferre said. “And not drag my little sister down with you.”

“You can’t talk.” Musichetta said, and nudged Combeferre. “How often were you in detention when you were in junior year?”

“Too often.” Combeferre said, but his lips twitched. “And now I’m a senior, I’m all grown up and mature. I don’t get detentions.”

Musichetta laughed. “You keep telling yourself that, bro.”

 

* * *

 

 

Grantaire was in one of the school bathrooms checking himself in the mirror, about to head over to meet his dad, when Combeferre’s reflection appeared over his shoulder.

“Hot date?” Combeferre asked, referring to Grantaire’s severely neatened appearance.

Grantaire grimaced as he adjusted his tie. “Meeting my dad.”

“Jeez.” Combeferre said, eyebrows raised. “He must be something.”

Grantaire laughed, feeling choked by his top button, which was done up for once. “ _Something_ is an accurate word for it. But the Plaza didn’t let me in last time I looked like I usually do, so…” He gestured to himself.

“Your mom was wrong.” Combeferre said, sending Grantaire an easy smile. “You look better normally.”

Grantaire was left gaping after Combeferre as he left, until he stirred himself, realising he was going to be late if he didn’t leave immediately.

 

* * *

 

 

The doorman eyed Grantaire’s shoes with distaste, but let him in, and Grantaire made his way to the Palm Court, his heart still pounding from Combeferre’s comment. His dad was sitting at one of the tables, his annoyingly perfect posture instantly recognisable.

“Louis.”

Grantaire flinched. “ _Please_ don’t call me that.”

His father shrugged, and gestured to the chair in front of him. “I’m not calling you by your mother’s surname.”

“Then call me R, everyone at school does. Just not _that_ name.”

“I’ll try to remember.” His dad offered the smallest of smiles. “Now, shall we get some food, I know you always liked-”

“Dad, I’m not ten anymore.” Grantaire didn’t know why this was always so difficult. He didn’t mean to snap at his dad, but it happened so often over the past couple of years. “You’ve obviously got something to say, since you came all the way here to tell me, instead of over the phone.”

His dad sighed. He looked exhausted, and Grantaire felt like shit for it. “If that’s what you want. I thought we could catch up first.”

“Dad…” Grantaire felt as though he’d aged a thousand years. “I’m sorry, I just- You always have to have a reason to come over here. Why can’t you just want to visit me?”

His dad’s posture softened a little. “I’m sorry, ‘Aire.” His accent thickened on the last word. “I’ll try to do better.”

“Why do you care now?” Grantaire didn’t want to be angry. He didn’t want to care about his dad anymore. “All those years, going out with those supermodels and driving cars and shit, why didn’t you try earlier?”

“I’m sorry. And we can talk about this later, I promise, but this is really important.”

Grantaire just wanted to leave. He slumped in his chair instead, and waved a hand, signalling that his dad should start talking. “Okay, shoot.”

“I don’t know how to say this in any way that doesn’t sound unbelievable, so I might as well say it. I’ve never been entirely honest with you, I’m afraid.” He reached across the table, and Grantaire snatched his hand out of reach.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not really a politician. I’m the crown prince of Genovia. My full name is Artur Christoff Phillipe Gerard Grimaldi Renaldo. And you’re not just Louis Grantaire. You’re Louis-Phillipe Laurent Grantaire Grimaldi Renaldo.”

That really explained a lot of weird things that had been going on all of Grantaire’s life - the private jet, the staff, the manor that was more like a castle. “Why are you telling me this? Why _now_?” Grantaire knew he was making a scene, knew people are staring, but he couldn’t help it.

“‘Aire, the cancer treatment… I’m infertile. You’re heir to the throne of Genovia.”

Grantaire stared at him for a long moment, shocked silent. “Fuck you. You only give a shit about me now because I’m the heir to your throne? Fuck that, I don’t want it. I’m going to be an artist, like Maman. I’m not prince material. And I’m not whatever that bullshit name you said is. I’m Grantaire, that’s it.” Grantaire knocked over his chair as he stood up, viciously grabbing his backpack, and strode out without a second glance.

He was being dramatic, he knew he was, and it felt _awesome._

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, honey.” Musichetta said, once she answered the door. “What’s wrong?”

Grantaire threw himself into her arms, sobbing, while she made soothing noises. There was the sound of footsteps, and Grantaire blinked through his tears to see Combeferre standing there. How embarrassing.

But Combeferre didn’t look judgemental, just said, “I’ll grab _Harry Potter,_ ” and left the room. Grantaire laughed into Musichetta’s shoulder. “Sorry. I’m a mess.”

“Shh.” Musichetta sank her fingers into his hair. “It’s okay. I’m here for you, it’ll be alright.”

Grantaire believed her, because she was Musichetta, and she was always right.

“Thanks.” Grantaire said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s what I’m here for, babe.” Musichetta said, pulling back from the hug but leaving an arm around Grantaire’s shoulders. “Now, let’s order some pizza and watch Harry Potter with my nerd brother.”

“You have the best plans.”

“Better believe it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Grantaire spent the evening tucked between Musichetta and Combeferre, marathoning Harry Potter. Eventually, they all decided to go to bed - they did have school the next day, after all - and Grantaire fired off a quick text to his mother explaining where he was.

Grantaire was just heading off to clean his teeth, since he was over often enough that he kept a spare toothbrush in their bathroom, when a very shirtless Combeferre walked out. And holy fuck had Combeferre been working out recently. Those abs were glorious. It wasn’t fair that Combeferre was smart and kind and gorgeous - no wonder Grantaire didn’t have a chance with him.

“Oh!” Combeferre said, as they almost bumped into each other. “Sorry. Night, R.”

“Night.” Grantaire replied, unable to meet Combeferre’s gaze. He went into the bathroom, and was faced by his bright red complexion in the mirror. “Fuck.” He took a deep breath, trying to gain some composure, and grabbed his toothbrush.

“Come here.” Musichetta said, once Grantaire had waited in the bathroom long enough for his blush to subside. She was under the covers, and held an arm out for Grantaire, who slipped into the side of the bed next to her, and was pulled into her embrace.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Musichetta said, her voice soft and sleepy, “But I’m always here if you want to.”

Grantaire made a small noise of agreement, already drifting off.

 

* * *

 

 

Grantaire woke, bright and early, to the sound of his phone ringing. Musichetta made a half-asleep grumbling noise, clearly wanting it to stop. Grantaire wanted the same, really, but still staggered out of bed and answered the phone.

“Mm?”

“Aire, it’s your father.” Grantaire suppressed a groan. “I’m sending Feuilly around with the car to give you a lift to school. He’s going to pick you up from school, as well, and we’re going to talk about this.”

Grantaire let out the dissatisfied groan this time.

“Use your words, please.”

“ _Fine_.” Grantaire said, and hung up.

“Whazzat?” Musichetta’s eyes weren’t even open as she mumbled at him.

Grantaire climbed back into bed. They didn’t need to be up for another hour. “Dad’s chauffeur is giving us a lift to school.”

Musichetta didn’t respond, already asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Dude_.” Musichetta said in awe as the car pulled up. “What does your dad do again?”

Grantaire paused, and fished for an answer. “He’s in the government.”

Combeferre stifled a laugh. “You realise that’s what people say to their friends and family when they work as, like, secret agents?”

Grantaire only raised an eyebrow at him, hoping to seem mysterious, rather than like a kid with a big dumb crush.

The traffic was so awful that it took pretty much the same amount of time to get to school as it did if they were walking, but none of them seem to mind. Combeferre, in particular, was glad to be able to go over his flash cards for his bio test. Grantaire was sure Combeferre knew all of the information backwards, and watched as Combeferre flipped over card after card, smiling to himself when he got the answer right, which was every time.

 

* * *

 

 

Grantaire thought his day wasn’t going to be able to get much worse, but an F on his algebra test put a damper on his already crappy mood. He shoved the paper in his bag, and strode out to where the car was waiting for him. The Plaza was in the opposite direction to Musichetta and Combeferre’s place, so he couldn’t even ride with them in the hopes of uplifting his mood a little.

Grantaire had got another text from his dad, telling him to meet him in his suite, and so Grantaire headed straight there, fixing his uniform on the drive. The doorman looked as despairing as they always did, and Grantaire got a savage sort of pleasure out of it.

There was coffee waiting for Grantaire when he made it up to the penthouse - and Grantaire suddenly realised why his dad could afford to stay in the Plaza penthouse - and Grantaire took it grudgingly, because he wasn’t going to turn down fancy coffee. All the tiny hipster cafes with outrageously priced coffee in Genovia had ruined Starbucks for him, and he took every opportunity he could get to drink good coffee.

Grantaire didn’t even care if it was a peace offering.

“Look,” his dad said, once they’d finished their drinks. “You don’t have to take the crown. It’s entirely your decision. I just need you to know the impact your decision is going to have. There’s a reason I didn’t tell you all of this, ‘Aire. I knew that you wouldn’t want to be a prince. I wanted to keep you separate from all of this for as long as possible, and I didn’t want you to be forced to choose in a situation where neither option is what you want.”

Grantaire sighed. “So what happens if I step down?”

“Your uncle is next in line.”

“Fuck.” Grantaire hated Tholomyes. He wasn’t even really Grantaire’s uncle - he was several times removed, and they were only barely related - but he was the _worst_. Grantaire really didn’t want to be a prince, but he wanted Tholomyes to be in power even less. “Dad, I’m going to be awful at this.”

His dad smiled at him. “You’re not going to have to do anything except be a figurehead, ‘Aire. We’ve got the plans in motion to set up Genovia as a constitutional monarchy. Once that’s through, it’s all fine, and you can step down if you want - nothing Felix does will have any weight unless he manages to get elected in any position of power.”

“Dad.” Grantaire said, finally able to relax a little. “Why didn’t you just say all this before?”

“You were being terribly dramatic, I didn’t have enough time to explain it.”

“Yeah, well.” Grantaire smiled. “I get that from you.”

His dad took that as a compliment, which was not how Grantaire had meant it, but whatever. “Now, you have to be prepared to look the part, if you’re going to accept your place as heir.”

“Suddenly regretting this decision.”

 

* * *

 

 

“What the fuck?”

Grantaire was studying himself in the mirror. His dad had taken him to a very expensive dermatologist, who had done all sorts of massages and extractions and shit that Grantaire didn’t have the vocabulary to describe. He had got hundreds of dollars of skincare products, and then they’d moved to a hairdresser. They had given him a bunch of treatments there, washed and dried and trimmed his hair - only trimmed, he wanted his hair to stay long - and then had been handed hundreds of dollars of shampoo and conditioners and hair masks and Grantaire didn’t know what else, a bunch of hair crap basically, and then they’d moved to a dentist. He’d had his teeth whitened, and they actually hadn’t sold his dad any products, which felt a little weird in the context of the day. Then they’d moved to some kind of beauty salon-slash-parlour-thing that Grantaire didn’t know what to call, and they’d ripped a bunch of hair out of his eyebrows. Then they’d gone clothes shopping, and shoe shopping, and finally, _finally_ , took a break for lunch.

The guy at the counter had been eyeing him up, which was certainly new. Grantaire had wondered what on earth they’d done to him.

His broken nose was still there, the crooked teeth, the generally unprized bone structure. But his skin was as clear as he’d ever seen it, his hair was glossy and smooth, his teeth shiny and bright white. He was also holding himself differently, having spent the day with people who had impeccable posture.

He didn’t recognise himself.

He was by no means gorgeous, but the sight of himself didn’t want to make him break a mirror for once. It was unsettling. He’d always rejected beauty standards, and he hated how much more he seemed to like himself just because he was more superficially attractive to other people. He’d always been popular enough, had always found people to mess around with - once people looked past his face, they tended to like him. There had been a couple of pity hook-ups, but the joke was on them in the end, because everyone always always had fun with Grantaire and he knew it, and the pitying parties always emerged ashamed.

“Getting too deep.” Grantaire muttered to himself, and just dropped the pile of bottles and pots and tubes on the sink to deal with at a point when his brain wasn’t going to overanalyse it all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise I said I'd update on the weekend but I already had this finished and I didn't really see the point of letting it sit there for another few days so here's the next chapter!! I've finished writing the fic basically, just editing and tweaks and stuff to go, so updates should be every few days :)

“You didn’t say anything about a press release.”

His dad didn’t look up from his newspaper. “Didn’t I? How did you think we were going to announce it?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Twitter?”

Grantaire didn’t even get a response. It was worth a shot.

Thankfully, the publicist he would be dealing with was far from what he’d been expecting - a bronze-skinned beauty of a man, with curls to rival Grantaire’s, now that he’d had them salon-styled. His name was Courfeyrac - at least Grantaire _thought_ it was, the guy spoke quickly and mostly in French - and he was so bubbly and outgoing and just outright charming that Grantaire was completely unsurprised that he was as successful as he was, despite being perhaps only five years older than Grantaire.

“We’re not going to bother with elocution.” Courfeyrac said, and only rose in Grantaire’s esteem. “It doesn’t fit your image, and it would entirely unbelievable. We want people to like you, we’re going to give them a _modern_ prince. Someone they can all relate to.”

Grantaire’s dad gave him a look as if to say _see? I did say you were being overdramatic._

Grantaire still wasn’t going to do anything like actually listen to his father, let alone acknowledge he was right. Grantaire was a teenage boy, after all.

 

* * *

 

Musichetta and Combeferre were waiting, as usual, when Grantaire pulled up in the limousine.

“I could get used to this.” Musichetta said, as she slid into the leather seats.

“You might just have to.” Grantaire said. “I think it’s here to stay.”

Combeferre just raised his eyebrows and climbed into the seat next to Musichetta without a word.

“Okay, seriously,” Musichetta said, while they were stuck in traffic, as usual, “What’s with the limo?”

Grantaire slumped against his seat. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. And you’ll find out soon enough.”

Combeferre looked away, and Grantaire caught the edge of a secretive smile. _Oh, fuck_ , Grantaire thought, _he knows._

But Combeferre still remained silent, and just pulled out his phone to start browsing the news. Grantaire could kiss him.

Well, Grantaire wanted to kiss him all the time, not just out of thanks, so that wasn’t really anything new.

Musichetta caught him staring at Combeferre, and Grantaire looked away quickly. He was sure that she knew about his feelings, but that didn’t mean he had to be obvious about it.

 

* * *

 

“Fuck.”

There was a mob crowding the quad as they pulled up to the school. Feuilly took one look outside, then turned around to face them. “I’m not letting any of you out into that crowd.”

“Yeah, um...” Combeferre said, handing Grantaire his phone. “You might want to see this.”

“Fuck.” Grantaire said, again. Then once more, because this was really shit. “Fuck.”

“What’s going on, ‘Aire?” Musichetta asked. Grantaire handed her the phone, clicking on one of the gossip magazines’ links.

_Brooklyn Boy Discovered to be European Royalty!_

“Grantaire, what the hell? Is this true?”

“Well, I’m not from Brooklyn, they could at least get that right. But the whole prince of Genovia thing? Uh…” Grantaire scratched the back of his head, while Combeferre watched on, amused. “Yeah?”

Musichetta turned to Combeferre. “Did you know about this?”

Combeferre shrugged. “I was assigned Genovia to study when we did Geography presentations in, like, freshman year. I recognised R’s dad.”

“What the fuck.” Grantaire said. “So you knew before me?”

“Apparently.”

Grantaire couldn’t help it; he laughed. Even to his ears, it sounded a little deranged. Feuilly looked over his shoulder at him, alarmed.

“Okay, I’m taking you to your dad. Damage control, and all that.”

Grantaire nodded. “Good idea.”

“We’re coming with you.” Musichetta said firmly.

“You don’t have to-”

“We’re coming.” Combeferre agreed, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Grantaire spent the ride to the Plaza with Musichetta’s arms around him, and wondered why he had been afraid of telling her before.

 

* * *

 

A group of security guards was waiting for them when they pulled up, and they formed a wall between the reporters and Grantaire, Musichetta, and Combeferre.

“Grantaire, I am so sorry.” His dad immediately pulled him into a hug when Grantaire made it into the penthouse, and Grantaire couldn’t help it; he broke down in tears.

“I _know_ I wasn’t going to be normal.” Grantaire said. “But I wanted it to be on my terms.”

“We’ll fix this. It’ll be okay.”

Grantaire hadn’t thought there would be another point in his life where he would need comforting by his father, but here he was. Things weren’t okay with them yet, but it actually felt like they were getting somewhere, and like his dad truly did care. Maybe this prince thing wouldn’t be all terrible.

 

* * *

 

Okay, Grantaire decided, the prince thing was terrible. All these lights were painfully hot, and he was sweltering under his blazer.

“Um, hi.” Grantaire was trying his best to look confident, but he was nervous as fuck, and his palms were sweating to a gross degree. Musichetta, standing with Combeferre behind the camera person, gave him a thumbs up, and Combeferre sent an encouraging smile. “This isn’t how I wanted things to go. I wanted this to be on my own terms, and have enough time to prepare something that I felt was true to what I wanted to tell both the citizens of Genovia and America. But that didn’t happen. So. Here we are. I’m going to do my best to make my people proud, and even if it’s not a country I’ve lived in my entire life, it is with utmost sincerity when I say Genovia and its people are very important to me. I want to do right by you, because I care about my country. But I’m kind of going in circles, sorry. Um. I would like to take this opportunity to formally announce that I, Gr- sorry, Louis-Phillipe Laurent Grantaire Grimaldi Renaldo - am, in fact, the heir to the Genovian throne. I also want to ask that, as I am a minor, the press respect my privacy and let me live my life unimpeded, without paparazzi following me, before I take up my formal duties. Thank you.” It wasn’t the most eloquent of speeches, but they hadn’t had a lot of time, and Grantaire had wanted to speak his own words. Shaking, Grantaire left the podium, and let Musichetta hug him. Once he was released, Courfeyrac approached him.

“I’m so sorry about everything that’s happened. I promise the press will all die down soon.”

“It’s okay. Like, I would also have liked for this to have gone how we planned.” Grantaire said. “And you get to manage this shitstorm, so I don’t envy you for that. It’s not your fault.”

Courfeyrac laughed. “Oh, honey, the people are going to love you.”

“You sure about that?” Grantaire asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yes.” Courfeyrac said, with certainty. “Because you have me.”

 

* * *

 

Grantaire had made his new bodyguard, Bahorel, only follow him to and from school, since the school security guards would be able to kick out anyone who looked like they didn’t belong. Bahorel was a cool guy, and seemed to be dating Feuilly - Grantaire kind of had a little crush on Feuilly, like everyone else to have ever lived - so he couldn’t be that bad, but still. He was a bodyguard.

“Asshole!”

Unfortunately, this guy looked like he belonged - Grantaire’s age, maybe, with light brown skin and golden hair - since he was wearing a uniform. Grantaire had just been looking at him, wondering (hoping) if he was a new student, since he was quite possibly the most beautiful person Grantaire had ever seen.

“What-?”

The guy strode up to Grantaire and threw something at him. A rose. It smacked into his face and dropped to the ground, petals falling everywhere. It didn’t hurt, but Grantaire was confused as hell.

“What the fuck? Do you think you’re, like, Tuxedo Mask, or something?”

That was enough to make the guy pause. “Who?”

Grantaire blinked at him. “You’ve never watched _Sailor Moon_?”

“No?”

“Um. Alright, then.” At least it seemed to have calmed the guy down a little. “What’s with the rose?”

He shuddered. “Some random person on the street gave it to me, and I didn’t have anything else to throw at you. I didn’t want to go and buy eggs, because that would be a waste of food.”

That kind of made sense - he was certainly gorgeous enough that Grantaire wasn’t surprised that random people would give him flowers. “Who are you? And why did you want to throw something at me?”

His eyes narrowed. “My name is Enjolras. And you’re supporting the ridiculously outdated and unjust system of monarchy that Genovia has perpetuated-” his voice had a trace of the almost-French Genovian accent, which wasn’t that much of a surprise.

But the name was familiar. Where had he heard that name?

“Okay, dude, take a breather.” Grantaire interrupted him. “You _should_ know that Genovia is actually, like, pretty democratic for a monarchy, so maybe check your facts. I know it’s not perfect, but we’re working on it.”

“But you’re making sure Felix Tholomyes won’t ascend the throne, and he’s going to abolish all monarchical power.” Fuck, that voice was gorgeous. And that face. And that hair.

Grantaire stared at him. “ _What?_ No, I’m not. And he’s not going to do that. I mean, I don’t want Tholomyes to rule, but for literally the opposite reason than you think. What do you know about Tholomyes?”

“He’s my stepfather. Kind of.”

That was where Grantaire had heard the name. “Oh, Jesus, you poor thing.” Grantaire said, wincing. That meant Enjolras had to be the half-brother Cosette was going on about when he’d caught up with her last. He’d seen pictures of Enjolras as a child, and he could see the resemblance now that he was looking.

Enjolras was starting to look a little unsure. “But he said-”

Grantaire sighed. “He’s an asshole, but he’s a charming asshole. I’m sure he told you all kinds of things. Look, you must live with Valjean, yeah?”

Enjolras nodded. “When I’m in Genovia.”

“Then call and ask him about Tholomyes. He’s not who you think he is.”

Enjolras nodded. “I will.”

“And hey.” Grantaire paused to scribble on a scrap of paper. “If you want to talk when you find out how much of a douchebag he is.”

Enjolras took Grantaire’s number wordlessly with a small nod, then turned sharply and left.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire’s father’s lips quirked when Grantaire told him about Enjolras.

“I was hoping to be there when you met. I’ve heard a lot about him, and I thought it would be… interesting, to say the least. But that could have been a much worse situation, I’m having Bahorel follow you everywhere from now on.”

Grantaire groaned, but he knew that it was sensible, and that his dad was only looking out for him.

 

* * *

 

It was early on a Saturday morning when Enjolras called Grantaire - okay, not _that_ early, but Grantaire didn’t rise before eleven on a weekend without a good reason.

“Mm?” Grantaire couldn’t trust his mostly-asleep mouth to form words just yet.

“I asked him.” A voice said, without preamble. “You were right. Oh, it’s Enjolras, by the way.”

Grantaire groaned and sat up. Cat gave him a glare as the sheets moved, bringing her to her feet. She made her way to the recently vacated pillow and curled up, the picture of dignity. “Yeah, Uncle T is a dick. Sorry.”

“Did you know about Fantine?”

Grantaire nodded, then remembered Enjolras couldn’t see him. “Yeah, hence why I think he’s the worst person ever.”

“I-” Enjolras broke off, and Grantaire could hear him take a deep breath. “I’m so _angry_. There were so many things he told me, and I believed him.”

“Yeah, well.” Grantaire felt pretty awful for him, and wanted to do something to make it better. “I might be a disappointment, but you can come talk politics with my dad. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by him. If nothing, I promise he’ll listen to you.”

“You’d do that?” Enjolras sounded surprised.

“Yeah, or I wouldn’t have offered.”

Enjolras’ voice was quiet when he answered. “I’d like that. Thank you. You're... not what I expected.”

 

* * *

 

It turned out Enjolras hadn’t actually been an intruder at Albert Einstein High School. On Monday morning, Grantaire went downstairs to find the limo waiting, as usual, although the passenger sitting inside was far from usual.

Bahorel, riding in the front with Feuilly, turned around to give Grantaire a wink. Grantaire sank into one of the backwards-facing seats, but Enjolras was too absorbed in reading something on his phone to acknowledge him.

“Uh. Hi.” Grantaire said.

Enjolras looked up at him, unimpressed. “I haven’t had my coffee yet, because the only places on the way here were Starbucks. Just don’t.”

Grantaire barely suppressed a laugh, and they rode in silence to Combeferre and Musichetta’s apartment.

* * *

 

Grantaire should have known Combeferre and Enjolras would get along. In the twenty minutes it took to drive to school, the two of them seemed to become best friends, discussing politics, philosophy, and god knew what else.

Musichetta looked between them and Grantaire, and then placed a comforting hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire supposed even if he was going to lose the love of his life and the most beautiful boy he’d ever met, at least he’d lose them to each other.

 

* * *

 

“What are you doing here?”

Grantaire had thrown himself into the limo, only to narrowly avoid crushing Enjolras, who was currently glaring at Grantaire.

“I’m coming with you to the Plaza.” Enjolras said, burying himself in his phone again. “You said I could talk to your father. Well, he talked to me first. He wants me to help you develop an interest in your people’s politics, or something. I don’t know, really, but Courfeyrac’s going to be there, and there will probably be a speech involved.”

Grantaire let out a heavy sigh, and let his head fall back against the headrest. “Jesus fuck, you seem much better suited to the political arena than me. You should be the prince.”

Enjolras’ eyes flashed at the very _idea_ he should be part of the monarchy. “I think not.” He said, accent thickening with irritation. “I will _earn_ my career.”

“I have no doubt that you will.” Grantaire said, sending him an easy grin, all too aware of his own relaxed posture, and the way it contrasted with Enjolras’ uptight way of holding himself, his back far too stiff to be comfortable. “I look forward to working with you.”

Enjolras’ eyes widened, as if surprised to be taken seriously. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

“You know,” Enjolras said quietly, after a long stretch of silence. “You should get Combeferre to help you on some of this stuff. I was talking to him earlier, and I think he could bring some refreshing views.”

Grantaire shrugged. “I’m just his little sister’s best friend, why should he go out of his way to help me?”

Enjolras looked taken aback. “Grantaire, he obviously cares a lot about you.”

“Oh.” Grantaire didn’t know how to respond to that, and just blinked at Enjolras for a long minute. “But-”

“Look,” Enjolras interrupted him. “I’ve only talked to the guy for like an hour in total, but it’s blindingly obvious that both of you are ridiculous over each other. Please do something about that.”

“Holy shit.” Grantaire honestly couldn’t process that information. “Are you sure?”

Enjolras rubbed at his temples, as if Grantaire were being deliberately obtuse. _“Yes.”_

Grantaire couldn’t believe that Combeferre might feel the same way about him, but honestly- it _did_ make sense. He was always hanging around them, making sure Grantaire was okay, always offering a smile or a hug or a _Harry Potter_ marathon. Maybe Grantaire had just been unwilling to believe that someone might have romantic feelings for him. And now… Grantaire glanced over at Enjolras under his eyelashes. He would never deny that he was attracted to Enjolras, but his love for Combeferre had burned low and steady for years now; he wasn’t going to risk that for Enjolras, whom he barely knew. Enjolras, who burnt hot and bright as the sun. Enjolras _blazed_. If Grantaire had the chance, he knew he would fall for Enjolras in an instant. And yet, in the face of  such beauty and passion, Grantaire was still in love with Combeferre.

 

_ Grantaire: _ hey I have Royal Duties atm but do you maybe want to catch up for coffee later?

 

_ Combeferre: _ Yeah, that sounds great. So long as it’s not Starbucks.

 

_ Combeferre: _ Just so we’re clear, is this a date or not? Either is okay with me, I just want to know.

 

_ Grantaire: _ well it doesn’t have to be a date but I’m v happy for it to be if you’re interested

 

_ Combeferre: _ I’m interested. x

 

_ Grantaire: _ wow um okay ill text you when im nearly done. see you soon xx

 

Grantaire made an undignified noise, internally screaming, and Enjolras looked over to him, an eyebrow raised.

“I’m guessing that was successful, then?” Enjolras hazarded, barely hiding a smirk.

Grantaire nodded. “For whatever fucking reason, yeah. No clue why he seems to like me, but I’m sure as hell not complaining.”

Enjolras’ expression clouded. “Why wouldn’t someone like you?”

“Have you met me?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said patiently, “Hence my confusion.”

If Grantaire hadn’t just asked out the love of his life, if Combeferre didn’t seem to reciprocate at least some of his feelings, then Grantaire might have assumed that he was in with a chance. He might have done something about it, maybe flirted a little. But he was going out with Combeferre on a date, and so he had to forget about Enjolras. There was something that ate away at him, though, a little something that said _what if?_ Something that said _, it’s not about Enjolras giving you the chance; you’ve fallen hard and fast for him_. But that was only a small part, and Grantaire mentally squashed it down. Even if it ate away at him, it did nothing to detract from his feelings for Combeferre, or make him any less excited about what seemed to be transpiring between them.

If Grantaire had been a more introspective person, then he might have considered that his romantic feelings for one of them had no bearings on his feelings for the other, and that he hadn’t actually been particularly jealous of Combeferre and Enjolras intently conversing that morning.

But he tried to avoid introspection, because analysing his internal processes tended to be really fucking depressing.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: a character is outed without their consent.

“This isn’t about Genovian politics, is it?” Grantaire asked, taking in the serious expressions of his father and Courfeyrac, and the piles of paper surrounding them.

Grantaire’s father laughed, but he didn’t seem happy - it was more a stressed sound than anything else. “No. Enjolras, would you like to explain?”

Enjolras took a seat at the table, and gestured for Grantaire to sit opposite him. “I did some digging when some of the stuff Valjean told me about Tholomyes didn’t add up, and then I had a conversation with Cosette. Turns out Tholomyes has been blackmailing her to appear in public as his perfect, happy daughter for his political gain, in return for not releasing the details of Valjean’s background to the police. They just didn’t realise that Valjean has been somewhat secretly dating the police officer who had been after Valjean for a while, so the threat doesn’t actually have any weight to it. They’re pretty public now, so Tholomyes is kind of laying low at the moment.”

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”

Enjolras’ lips quirked up, the barest hint of a smile, ice-cold and dangerous. “There are some suggestions that Tholomyes himself might have had something to do with Fantine’s death.”

“And that’s where I come in.”

Grantaire looked up at the familiar voice, and leapt to his feet once he caught sight of the woman to whom it belonged.  _ “Cosette.” _

Cosette, looking as beautiful and elegant as ever - if anyone was fit to be royalty, it was her, not Grantaire - pulled Grantaire into a tight hug, and kissed his cheeks. “It’s good to see you, Aire.”

“You too.” Grantaire said, taking her hands in his, drawing back when his fingers brushed against something - an engagement ring, set with one of the largest diamonds he’d ever seen. “Cosette, why didn’t you tell me you were engaged?”

There was a loud  _ bang _ as Enjolras’ chair hit the ground, the boy himself barely missing falling with it.  _ “What?” _

“Well, it only just happened, and we were so caught up in all of this that we haven’t officially announced it yet. I don’t wear the ring out in public, and we wondering if anyone would notice. And Enjolras, darling, you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras said, and he did look repentant, but Grantaire wasn’t sure how good an actor he was. “But you should have told me.”

Cosette shrugged, and swept over to Enjolras to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Well, you know now. I expect you to be at the engagement party, just so you know.”

Enjolras screwed up his face. “But-”

“No buts. You’ll be there.” Cosette said. Once Enjolras had unwillingly nodded, Cosette kissed his other cheek, then planted herself in the nearest chair. “And my darling father will be sure to be there, too.”

Grantaire had no idea why his life had developed anything remotely resembling political intrigue, but it was sure as hell more interesting than high school.

 

* * *

 

The planning took what felt like hours, and was a lot more boring than Grantaire had hoped it would be. Finally, they had a loose idea of how to uncover Tholomyes, and Grantaire was free. Enjolras elected to stay behind and catch up with his sister, and sent Grantaire a secretive look and mouthed  _ good luck  _ when no one was watching. Grantaire felt something warm flutter in his chest, both at the thought of Enjolras looking out for him, and the thought of his imminent date with Combeferre.

Feuilly and Bahorel were smug the entire drive to the cafe, and Grantaire couldn’t stop smiling. Combeferre was waiting for Grantaire, hands in his pockets on the crisp autumn afternoon - there was a certain glow to his skin, and Grantaire wasn’t sure if that was due to the cold, or possibly excitement.

“Hi.” Combeferre said, a little shy, when Grantaire approached him.

Grantaire couldn’t help but smile at him. “Hi.”

“Shall we go inside?” Combeferre asked, and held out a hand to Grantaire, which Grantaire took. They walked into the small cafe, Bahorel on their tail. Combeferre’s hands were warm and soft, and Grantaire decided he was never going to let go of him.

All throughout their date, Grantaire didn’t know what was happening to him - usually he was a sarcastic asshole, and here was being all soft and blushy, glancing away and biting his lip when Combeferre’s beauty and wit inevitably became too much to face.

Grantaire didn’t even really know what they were talking about, all that he knew was that Combeferre was looking at him with inexpressible fondness, and their hands stayed linked on the table the whole time, and Combeferre’s smile was positively luminous when Grantaire got froth from his cappuccino on his nose.

And then the sun was setting, and it was a weeknight, so they had to get home, and Combeferre took both of Grantaire’s hands in his and kissed him, and the world stopped for Grantaire. The only things that mattered were Combeferre’s lips - a little chapped but mostly soft - on his, and the warm breath they shared in the moments after the kiss.

 

* * *

 

“Hello, Maman!” Grantaire called, sailing through the door of the apartment. 

“I’m in here!” Her voice was coming from the kitchen, and Grantaire was unsurprised to find her heating up leftovers - she had never enjoyed cooking. “What’s got you in such a good mood?”

Grantaire grinned at her. “I had a date.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” She said, and reached out to pull him into a hug. “I know things have been hard, with all of the Genovia stuff, so I’m glad you’ve got someone who cares about you; I’m sure she’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you, ‘Aire.”

Grantaire blinked away the tears that were welling up in his eyes, ignoring the  _ she _ \- he wasn’t ready for that conversation just yet. “Thanks, Maman. Now, are there any more noodles, or am I going to have to cook something?”

His mother was taller and more willowy - Grantaire had inherited his father’s stockier build - and held her container up out of his reach. “There’s probably something in the fridge, but I called dibs on the last of the sesame noodles.”

“So cruel to me.” Grantaire said, pretending to sniff away tears - well, he  _ was _ sniffing away tears, just happy ones - but he never minded cooking as much as his mother, and started pulling stuff out of the fridge.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire was kind of surprised to find his dad and Courfeyrac in the kitchen the next morning. His dad was standing in silence, while Courfeyrac chatted easily with Grantaire’s mother.

“Uh, morning.” Grantaire said, very aware of the fact that he was wearing his pyjamas, which Musichetta had bought for him, covered in little pug faces.

“Morning.” His mother said, and Grantaire could see a newspaper on the table in front of her. Her expression was grim, and Grantaire’s stomach tightened with worry. “You might want to see this.”

Grantaire took the paper when it was offered to him, and he immediately threw it face-down on the table. “Fuck.” He snatched up the newspaper again - he wasn’t leaving it there - and retreated to his room. Spread across the front page was a picture of him and Combeferre kissing, and some awful borderline-homophobic headline that Grantaire couldn’t even process.

“Grantaire, honey.” Grantaire’s mother knocked on the door, and he wiped away the tears that had started running down his cheeks. “We need to talk about this.”

“Go away.” Grantaire said, and it was painfully obvious from his voice that he was crying.

The door opened, and his mother slipped inside, shutting it after her. “‘Aire.”

“I’m sorry.” 

She sat on the bed next to Grantaire, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. “Honey, I’m not mad or disappointed. I just want to talk so we can figure out the best thing  _ for you _ .”

Grantaire pressed his face against her neck, tears staining her soft t-shirt. “This wasn’t how I wanted it to happen. It’s the same with the prince thing. I don’t mind people knowing, but I don’t want other people doing it for me.”

“So tell them that. I’ll support you, whatever you do. I want you to know that.”

Grantaire let out a shaking breath, tears slowing. “Thank you, Maman.”

His mother kissed his cheek. “Now call Combeferre, I’m sure you want to talk to him about it.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” Combeferre said when he answered his phone. “I saw the paper, I’m on my way over.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Grantaire.” Combeferre’s voice was firm, despite the fact that he was panting a little, and Grantaire realised that Combeferre was seriously hurrying. “I want to do this. I’m so sorry about the paper.”

“God, this isn’t your fault.” Grantaire said. “It’s  _ neither _ of our faults, it’s the fucking nosy press’ fault, and that’s why it sucks so much.”

“But if I forced you to come out-”

Grantaire hid an exasperated but fond grin, even if Combeferre wasn’t able to see it. “I don’t care about being out, I’m just pissed that they invaded my privacy, and that everyone is making such a big fucking deal about it. I don’t regret my feelings for you, Combeferre.”

“Oh.” And the little sound Combeferre made sounded so pleased. “Good. Same for me.”

“Good. If the paparazzi is too much, though-”

“Grantaire, I lo- I  _ care _ about you so much. I’m not leaving you just because of some nosy idiots.”

It was Grantaire’s turn to be inordinately pleased. “So I’m guessing you want to go on more dates.”

“So many dates, ‘Aire. Anyway, I’m nearly at your building, so I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

 

* * *

 

Grantaire realised, too late, that he was still in his pug pyjamas. It wasn’t like Combeferre hadn’t seen him wearing them before, so he just went out to wait in the living room. Courfeyrac beckoned Grantaire over and asked if he could hug him, and Grantaire accepted. It turned out that Courfeyrac was really good at hugs.

“It’s all going to be okay, you know?” Courfeyrac said, once he pulled away. 

Grantaire managed a smile, just barely. “I actually kind of believe you.”

Then there was a knock on the door, and Grantaire rushed over to open it, flinging himself into Combeferre’s arms as soon as he could.

Combeferre stumbled back a little, mostly in surprise, but he quickly hugged Grantaire back. “Um, hi.”

Grantaire drew back, and  _ fuck _ , he was crying again. “C’mon.” He tugged on Combeferre’s hand, and led him to his room, while the adults in the kitchen were all deeply involved in some conversation that sounded completely forced.

As soon as the bedroom door shut behind them, Grantaire clung to Combeferre, pressing his nose to his neck and breathing him in.

“Are you… sniffing me?” Combeferre asked, a touch of amusement in his voice.

“Yeah, your neck smells really good.”

Combeferre laughed, and Grantaire could feel the movement of it against him. “If you say so. I didn’t have enough time to shower this morning.”

“Did you brush your teeth?”

“Uh. Yes?”

Grantaire didn’t answer, just rose up on his tiptoes to kiss Combeferre. “That’s why I wanted to know. I might have done it anyway, though.”

“Is that right?” Combeferre asked.

Grantaire stole another kiss, a quick peck this time. “I really like kissing you.”

“Good.” Now Combeferre was the one to initiate the kiss. “Because I really like kissing you, too.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” Combeferre said, after they’d been making out for what felt like a good half hour, “What’s the plan with us? Because I would like to publicly be your boyfriend, but only if that’s what you want.”

Grantaire’s heart skipped a beat.  _ Combeferre, his boyfriend. _ “I want that. I want  _ you _ , ‘Ferre.”

“I’m glad.” Combeferre said, and kissed the tip of Grantaire’s nose, which Grantaire then wrinkled. “So do you want me to be with you when you make some kind of statement? If you want to make some kind of statement, that is.”

“Yeah, I do.” Grantaire said. “Thank you, Combeferre. Really. You’re more wonderful than I could ever hope for, and for whatever reason, you want  _ me _ .”

Combeferre reached over and tucked a glossy lock of hair behind Grantaire’s ear. “You’re way too hard on yourself. Grantaire, you’re... “ He met Grantaire’s gaze steadily, clear affection in his eyes, which made Grantaire want to do something ridiculous like bury his face in his hands and squeal. “You’re incredible.”

Grantaire had no idea what he must have done in a past life to deserve someone like Combeferre, but it must have been something really awesome.

 

* * *

 

Later, once they’d kissed a bit more and figured out precisely what they wanted to do about making their relationship public, Combeferre and Grantaire ventured out into the kitchen.

Grantaire took a deep breath when Courfeyrac looked up expectantly, and gripped Combeferre’s hand. “I want to write what I’m saying, and I don’t want it to be a TV interview.”

Courfeyrac nodded slowly. “We can work with that. Put it up on social media, it’ll be massive. And I might go over the script you write, just so it’s all phrased in the best light, if that’s alright with you? I’m not going to change anything without talking to you, just make suggestions.”

“Sounds good.” Grantaire said, and glanced over to Combeferre. “And I want Combeferre to be there with me.”

Courfeyrac turned to Combeferre, entirely serious. “You know what you’re getting yourself into, right? There’s going to be a media shitstorm, people everywhere are going to know who you are, and they’re not all going to like the fact that you’re dating Grantaire.”

“I’ve considered that.” Combeferre said, with equal gravity. “And I still want to go ahead with it. I want to be here for Grantaire, and I’m at least somewhat responsible for this situation.”

“Good.” Courfeyrac said, and smiled, satisfied. “And you’re both going to have to go back to school tomorrow and act completely normal, right?”

Grantaire groaned.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire was quite proud of the video, when they finished it, and his words seemed to be quoted everywhere -  _ I never planned to come out, I think the whole ‘presumed straight until proven otherwise’ thing is kind of crappy, and I never wanted to play into it. I wanted people to know, somehow, and yet I didn’t want to tell anyone. Some of it might have been cowardice, I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. That’s because, once again, my abilities to announce things for myself has been compromised by the press. So, here I am, coming out, and taking this breach of privacy into my own hands. I’m not gay, so  _ please _ stop saying that, just because I was kissing another boy. I’m bisexual. I’m telling you this because representation is important, and I grew up without seeing enough people like me. This is for all you kids out there who are struggling with your sexuality, or even those kids who are completely sure of themselves but still get shit for it. I care about every single one of you, and I’m kind of doing this video for me, but I’m also doing it for all of you. _

When Enjolras first saw Grantaire after the video was posted, he pulled him into a tight hug.

“I know we haven’t known each other that long,” Enjolras said, his arms still around Grantaire, “But that was amazing, and I’m so proud of you.”

“Oh. Uh.” Grantaire wasn’t quite sure what was going on. “Thank you?”

Everyone loved Combeferre, of course. Who wouldn’t love Combeferre? The video received hundreds of  _ OMG HIS BOYFRIEND IS SO HOT _ comments, and Grantaire read every single one out to Combeferre, just to make him blush.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, there is (not v explicit) sex in this chapter - all parties are over the age of consent (17/18) but I'm warning for it just in case.

Grantaire gasped as Combeferre’s lips dragged down his throat, teeth sinking into his collarbone. “‘Ferre-”

Combeferre only smirked and continued to kiss a path down Grantaire’s chest, down his stomach, and Grantaire threw his head back, screwing his eyes shut, as Combeferre took him into his mouth. “Oh, fuck.”

Grantaire kept his eyes closed as Combeferre’s mouth brought him closer and closer to the edge, and-

Grantaire’s eyes fluttered open as he felt the stirrings of his orgasm, only to find not Combeferre but Enjolras between his thighs, eyes dark as Grantaire came down his throat.

Grantaire shot up in bed, alone, to find his boxers sticky, thankfully keeping the worst of the mess from his sheets. It had been a long time since he’d had a wet dream that intense, and it had always just been Combeferre who had featured in them. It was completely embarrassing, and Grantaire knew he was fucked. But it was just sexual attraction, right? He could ignore that.

 

* * *

 

“I have a plan.”

Enjolras never usually looked this awake in the mornings - surely something had to be wrong.

“Yeah?” Grantaire asked, sliding into his usual seat. He couldn’t quite meet Enjolras’ gaze, and even though he knew he had no control over his dreams, he still felt awful and more than a little creepy. “For what aspect of my ridiculous, messed-up life?”

Enjolras barely acknowledged what Grantaire said. “Your speech. You’re becoming a massive bi icon, and we can use your platform to educate people about all sorts of gender and sexuality issues. This is amazing, ‘Aire, we can actually make a difference.”

“You really think so?” Grantaire was dubious - why would he be any kind of authority on any of these issues?

“Yes.” And Grantaire couldn’t deny Enjolras, not when his eyes were sparkling like that. The dream had been intense, to say the least, but it didn’t compare to the real Enjolras here, bright and alive and so, so passionate.

“Okay. You just let me know what I should do.”

Feuilly, stopped at a traffic light, sent them a glance over his shoulder. “You said you’re doing stuff on gender, right, not just sexuality?”

“Of course.” Enjolras said. “I’m trans, so that’s something I feel qualified to talk about. I’m hoping to get some non-binary people on board. I don’t want to have hollow representation, we need people who are living the experiences they’re talking about.”

Feuilly’s voice was quiet when he responded. “I could do some of that, if you want. I’m not really out to a lot of people, but I’m agender. I’d like to be out properly, and it’s even better if I can educate people in the process. I’m still fine with _he_ pronouns, at least for the moment, in case you’re wondering. And I have a non-binary friend who’s out, they have a very different outlook on gender than me. I’m sure they’d be glad to talk about their experiences.”

“Oh.” Enjolras was shocked silent for a moment. “Thank you, Feuilly. Both for trusting us, and for your offer.”

Feuilly’s smile was wide in the rearview mirror as he began to drive again. “I’ve told Bahorel, of course, but it’s nice to have told more people.”

Grantaire turned away when Bahorel reached over to squeeze Feuilly’s leg and whisper _proud of you, babe_ , not wanting to intrude on their small, private moment.

“This is going to be amazing.” Enjolras’ eyes burned bright, and Grantaire would be damned if he didn’t believe him.

 

* * *

 

AEHS was a fairly progressive school, but Grantaire was still shocked to be called into the principal’s office a couple of days later, where he was informed that Enjolras had already successfully applied for them to be given time during school hours to work on the project, and that they would receive extra credit. Grantaire was pretty grateful for that, since his grades had suffered over the past weeks - school hadn’t really been his top priority.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire was surprised to find that when he walked into the first meeting for Enjolras’ project, the room was nearly full of people - Enjolras and Combeferre were present, of course, and Bahorel and Feuilly were in a corner conversing with Courfeyrac and a willowy person, who had locs pulled back by a brightly patterned headband, which clashed weirdly with their delicate floral dress. They immediately sprang up and introduced themselves as Jehan, and although their voice was soft, almost shy, they waxed lyrical about the opportunity Grantaire and Enjolras were presenting them all with. Grantaire stammered something out about it not being possible without all of them, and blinked as he took in the rest of the room, overwhelmed. Musichetta was sitting at a table chatting with two familiar-looking seniors, and even Cosette was there, holding hands with a lanky, gangly man who reminded Grantaire of some kind of woodland creature, charmed by Disney princess Cosette.

“‘Aire, darling.” Cosette was the next to greet him, with a hug, and a kiss to each of his cheeks. “We were just waiting for you, come take a seat.”

Grantaire was kind of surprised to be seated at the head of the table next to Enjolras, with Cosette settling on his other side, but he supposed that it was his publicity that was making this possible. Or, at least, that was what Enjolras was bound to argue.

“You all know why you’re here generally, so I’m not going to waste time on that.” Enjolras was standing, and Grantaire had to crane his neck to watch his eyes blaze. “We have a brief plan of action on the agenda today, and once Cosette has introduced her part of the plan, we’re going to go around and everyone’s going to talk about their individual commitment to the project. Sound good?” There was a hum of agreement throughout the room. “Cool. Let’s get started, then. Cosette?”

As it turned out, Cosette was going to announce her engagement and throw a party in celebration, with Grantaire present, since the public seemed to love him for some really fucking strange reason. In the wake of that publicity, they were going to launch their website, which Combeferre and Feuilly were working on, along with their first video, which was going to feature Enjolras and Grantaire, with Marius providing captions in various languages. They would then publish videos or blog posts weekly, and Courfeyrac would be in charge of regularly updating their social media. Grantaire was kind of surprised by how slick and planned-out everything was, and everyone was so confident in what they were saying that Grantaire found himself thinking that it might just work.

Not that he was going to tell any of them that, of course.

 

* * *

 

“What happened to us planning to take down your father? The dickhead biological one, I mean.” Grantaire asked Cosette, when the meeting was over.

“Oh, that.” Cosette laughed, bright and tinkling. “You’ll find out, don’t worry. It’s still going ahead.” Her grin was still fixed in place, but she looked vicious.

Grantaire decided then and there to never get on Cosette’s bad side if he could help it.

 

* * *

 

“Hey.” Combeferre did a little run to catch up to Grantaire as he made his way to his locker. “You want to come over this evening? My mums are away and ‘Chetta’s hanging out with Joly and Bossuet - the seniors that were at the meeting - for a bit. I think it’s a date, maybe, I didn’t ask. But they’re a trans guy and his boyfriend, so at least I don’t have to worry about her safety in that sense. Anyway, the apartment is ours. And you can stay over, if you want.”

Grantaire smiled up at him. The nervous flutter he’d been feeling all afternoon, wondering if he was good enough for this project, if he was going to fail abysmally, faded as Combeferre kissed him. It was a cliche, kissing against the lockers, but Grantaire wasn’t about to complain.

“I’d like that.” Grantaire said, voice hoarse, when Combeferre pulled away. “I’ll tell Maman I’m staying with Musichetta, but I don’t think she’ll believe me.”

True to form, Grantaire received a text from his mother a few minutes later, reminding him to use a condom, and Grantaire stifled a grin against Combeferre’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Combeferre didn’t immediately pull Grantaire in for a kiss when they entered the apartment, which was a surprise, instead waiting for Grantaire to drop his backpack before linking their hands and leading him to the kitchen.

“I thought I’d make you dinner.” Combeferre said, looking nervous.

Grantaire laughed, and stretched up to kiss him, just because he could. “That sounds lovely, but I’m helping you cook. I’m not just going to sit around while you slave over a hot stove.”

Combeferre agreed, and it was weirdly fun. They put on music while preparing the food - vegetarian lasagna, a recipe from one of Musichetta’s aunts - and Grantaire grabbed Combeferre to dance him around the kitchen while the dish was cooking in the oven. And _fuck_ , Grantaire was smitten. It was domestic, painfully so, and Grantaire knew that this was what he wanted to be doing for the rest of his life.

“I love you, you know.” Grantaire said. It was one of the things he was sure of in his life, the only constant he’d had since discovering his royalty. He could have confidence in this, at least. “I have for an embarrassingly long time.”

“Oh.” Combeferre’s eyes were wide behind his glasses. “I hadn’t- I wasn’t going to tell you just yet, because I thought you might find it weird, since we just started dating. But I do love you, Grantaire. I have for a while now, too.”

“I’m so glad Enjolras got me to pull my head in, or I never would have realised.” Grantaire said.

Combeferre smiled at the mention of Enjolras, and Grantaire laughed. “He’s like that, isn’t he?”

Combeferre sighed, not unhappily. “Yeah.”

The timer went off before Grantaire could delve any further into what Combeferre seemed to feel for Enjolras - because there was certainly _something_ there - and the moment was lost. Instead, Combeferre hastened to pull their dinner from the oven, kissing Grantaire on the cheek when he laughed at the sight of Combeferre in the bear paw oven mitts that Musichetta was no doubt responsible for.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was quiet, both Grantaire and Combeferre smiling at each other as they ate, lost for words.

“Do you want anything for dessert?” Combeferre asked, once they had cleaned up, and Grantaire shook his head.

“I’d rather spend time doing this,” Grantaire twined his arms around Combeferre’s neck, and pressed his face to the skin there, inhaling, “Than have dessert.”

Combeferre’s pupils were wide as Grantaire looked up at him. “Do you want to go to my room? We don’t have to do anything, we can just-”

“Is ‘doing anything’ on the table?” Grantaire asked. “I don’t know how fast you want to move. I haven’t had full-on sex yet, but I’ve messed around a bit before, and I’d be happy to do _something_ with you. But only if you wanted to, obviously.”

“I-” Combeferre’s breath hitched, and his fingers, which had somehow made their way to Grantaire’s hips without Grantaire noticing, tightened their grip. “That sounds… I haven’t done anything at all before, really, but I want to. I want _you._ ”

“I can show you some stuff.” Grantaire said, smile wicked. He and Musichetta had fooled around a bit in the summer while Combeferre had been away visiting his father. They had both wanted to experiment, and Musichetta trusted Grantaire not to a transphobic asshole. They’d discovered, much to Musichetta’s pleasure, that Grantaire was a natural at giving blow jobs, and he’d only got better with practice. He was looking forward to this.

“Okay.” Combeferre said, and he looked a little as though he was freaking out, but his excitement was outweighing any nerves. He stepped away from Grantaire to take his hand and lead him to his bedroom, where they stood in silence for a moment, staring at the bed.

Grantaire turned to face Combeferre, taking his other hand as well. “If you’re nervous, we don’t have to do anything.”

“I want to, though.” Combeferre said, after shaking his head. “I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Follow my lead for now, if you want.” Grantaire tugged at the hem of Combeferre’s shirt. “This okay to come off?”

Combeferre nodded, and Grantaire slowly unbuttoned the shirt, pressing kisses to the planes of Combeferre’s chest as it was revealed.

“Now you.” Combeferre said, and Grantaire’s shirt followed in similar form.

Combeferre looked as though he were going to faint when Grantaire’s fingers slid down his stomach to rest at the fly of his pants.

“Do you want me to-?” Grantaire asked, and Combeferre’s nod was enthusiastic. The pants came off, and Grantaire made an interested noise at the size of the bulge in his underwear.

“Your pants first.” Combeferre said, before Grantaire could even palm him through the fabric.

Grantaire’s trousers hit the floor, and his boxers were tented too, if not to the same obscene degree as Combeferre’s.

“Can I-” Grantaire broke off, and wet his lips. “I really want to suck your cock, if you’re interested?”

“Am I-? Fuck, R, _so_ interested.” Combeferre said, and all but fell onto the side of the bed when Grantaire guided him backwards, knees giving out under him. “I’m really not going to last long, though.”

“I’ll take that as flattery.” Grantaire said, grinning as he dropped to his knees. He took off Combeferre’s boxers, pressing a kiss to the inside of Combeferre’s thigh. “Now sit back and enjoy the show.”

Combeferre laughed at the cheesy line, self-consciousness diminished, and Grantaire was pleased that it had its intended effect. After pausing to roll a condom onto Combeferre’s cock, he slowly took Combeferre into his mouth, and there wasn’t much room for thought after that.

 

* * *

 

“Today’s a Friday, yeah?”

They were sprawled naked across Combeferre’s bed, both of them sweating and pleased with themselves.

Combeferre turned onto his side to face Grantaire, unable to wipe the grin off his face. “Yeah.”

“Oh, thank god.” Grantaire slumped against the pillows. “I don’t have anything on tomorrow. And it’s been a really fucking long week.”

“Things will get better.” Combeferre said, and shifted to press a kiss to Grantaire’s cheek. “You’ll see.”

“Bloody optimist.” Grantaire grumbled, but rolled to face Combeferre to kiss him properly. “I swear to God, the lot of you will-”

He broke off, interrupted by the sound of Combeferre’s phone ringing. Combeferre got up, much to Grantaire’s disappointment, and pulled out the phone from his discarded pants, giving Grantaire a rather lovely view of his ass.

“Enjolras, hey. What’s-” Combeferre paused, and his posture stiffened. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, Enjolras, please.” There was another pause, a longer one, and Combeferre relaxed a little. “Of course that’s alright, but Grantaire’s here too, is that okay with you? Yeah, we’ll be out in a minute.”

“What’s going on?” Grantaire was already out of the bed, searching for his clothes.

Combeferre turned to face Grantaire while getting dressed. “Something’s wrong with Enjolras, and he couldn’t find you at your apartment, so he came here.”

Grantaire froze. “I’m the first person he thought of when something went wrong?”

“Yes, apparently. Now get dressed; I don’t think Enjolras would appreciate seeing your dick as much as me right now.”

Grantaire laughed, ignoring the slightly anxious edge to it, worried as he was about Enjolras. “I love you.”

“I love you too, but if you don’t get dressed I might change my mind.” Combeferre did up the last button on his shirt, which still didn’t hide the marks Grantaire had given him, and the hand he ran through his hair didn’t do much to combat the _just-had-sex_ aura he was exuding.

Grantaire suspected he wasn’t much better off - Combeferre was even more enthusiastic about leaving hickeys, and his hair was bound to be an absolute mess. Well, an even worse mess than usual, not the artfully dishevelled curls he’d had since his makeover.

Grantaire still raked a hand through his hair, hoping to fix the state he was in, but Combeferre just laughed.

“You’re making it worse.” Combeferre said, and Grantaire gave up his hair as a lost cause. There was no way Enjolras wasn’t going to know what they’d been up to.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry.” Enjolras said, as soon as they answered the door. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, I should have known when you weren’t home, ‘Aire.”

Grantaire’s stomach did a funny jolt at Enjolras using his nickname in that ridiculously gorgeous accent of his. “It’s fine, you weren’t interrupting. And if something’s wrong, well, we’re your friends, aren’t we?”

“Oh.” Enjolras looked simultaneously devastated and relieved, and Combeferre hurriedly guided him into the apartment and bundled him into a hug so he wouldn’t start crying out in the hallway. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Enjolras.” Combeferre said, and Enjolras was so much shorter than him that Enjolras’ head didn’t even tuck under his chin properly. “We’re here.”

Enjolras gasped out a breath against Combeferre’s chest, but the tears were slowing, and eventually he pulled away, wiping at his eyes. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“What happened?” Grantaire asked, and Enjolras collapsed onto the couch, gathering his thoughts.

“You know what happened with Fantine, right?” Enjolras asked, looking up at Grantaire.

“Your and Cosette’s mother, became a sex worker to support Cosette when she was born after Tholomyes abandoned her, lived off as little as possible to give more money to the greedy assholes who were supposed to take care of Cosette and died when she gave birth to you because her health was so poor?” Grantaire said, more for Combeferre’s benefit than anything.

Combeferre looked outraged, and Enjolras scrunched his eyes shut for a long moment.

“She didn’t die giving birth to me. I just found out. She basically starved to death, because she was doing all she could to feed me and keep sending money to Cosette. A potential client beat her up, and she wasn’t strong enough to recover from her injuries, when they would have been minor to anyone who was healthy.” Enjolras looked furious. “They could have done something. She could have _lived_ . I love Valjean, and he took such good care of me and Cosette, but he lied to me. Our mother sacrificed everything because she loved us so much. I could have grown up with my mother if someone gave enough of a shit about her, but she was a sex worker with a young child, and she died because of that _._ If Valjean had found her just a little earlier, she could have...” Enjolras broke off, tears streaking down his face. “I always thought that if I hadn’t been born, she might have lived, and I always lived with it because things can go wrong with childbirth, even if it’s not as common anymore. When I found out about what I thought actually happened, with her illness contributing to her death, I felt worse about it. But _this_. If I hadn’t-”

“Don’t say that, Enjolras.” Grantaire interrupted him. “It’s not your fault.”

“ _But it is._ ”

“It’s not.” Combeferre said. “It’s really, really not. Like you said, it’s the system that failed her. Not you.”

“But-”

“Not. You.” Combeferre repeated, and wrapped his arms around Enjolras. Grantaire did the same, from Enjolras’ other side.

Enjolras shook in their embrace, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I miss her. I never knew her, but I miss her.”

“And that’s okay. It’s okay to miss her, it’s okay to grieve.” Combeferre pulled back to wipe away some of Enjolras’ tears with his shirtsleeve. “Just please don’t blame yourself for it.”

“But what if Cosette thinks-” Enjolras voice was shaking.

“She won’t, I promise. She loves you so much, Enjolras. Do you want me to call her? She’ll come over if you want her to be here.”

Enjolras shook his head. “Not now. Tomorrow, maybe, but not now.”

“That’s fine.” Combeferre said, his voice steady and comforting. Enjolras relaxed against him. “Do you want to stay here tonight? It’s what Grantaire does whenever he’s upset, even before we were dating. We have a routine sorted.”

“But you two-”

“Don’t think about us, we don’t mind.” Grantaire said, and since when had his rough voice ever sounded so gentle? “If you want to stay, then do. If you don’t want to, then don’t stay.”

“I want to.” Enjolras said, voice small. “Thank you.”

“All good, we can go on about me bawling my eyes out when I found out about being the prince, if that’ll even the playing field.”

Enjolras let out a laugh. “I don’t blame you, I think I would cry too if I found out I was part of the monarchy.”

Grantaire smiled, and goodnaturedly nudged Enjolras with his shoulder. Enjolras eyes scrunched a little with how wide his smile was, despite his damp eyelashes. Everything was going to be okay.

 

* * *

 

“See, I said your brother would be fine with a polyamorous relationship.”

Grantaire, half-asleep, heard Musichetta hissing something in response, too low for him to make out the words, and the patter of three sets of footsteps heading off to Musichetta’s room. Enjolras made a small grumbling noise, his face illuminated by the rolling credits of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_. Grantaire grabbed the remote to turn it off.

“Thanks.” Enjolras mumbled. Grantaire tried to ignore all the ways Enjolras was pressed up against him and Combeferre, the three of them tangled together on the sizeable couch.

“Go back to sleep, E.” Grantaire said, his voice husky.

“Okay, R.” Enjolras, pronouncing it as the English letter, rather than French. It was completely adorable, and Grantaire’s heart melted. The fact that Enjolras’ pillow was shoved on top of and against Grantaire’s chest also didn’t help things. Enjolras’ breathing slowed almost immediately, and Combeferre showed no signs that he’d even been aware of Musichetta coming home, or the exchange between Enjolras and Grantaire. Finding a kind of comfortable spot, since Enjolras seemed to be the worst kind of person to sleep near - he was both a starfish _and_ a blanket hog - it didn’t take long for Grantaire to fall back asleep.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras left the next morning with a hug from each Grantaire and Combeferre, looking much better than he had the night before.

“Well, shit.” Combeferre said, once the front door had shut and him and Grantaire had stared at it for a long, silent moment. “You care about… care _for_ him too, right?”

“Yeah.” Grantaire said, in a strained voice.

“What do you want to do about it?”

“We should tell him, I think. But not right now.” Combeferre slipped his arms around Grantaire’s shoulders. “I think we have some unfinished business to attend to.”

“You seemed to _finish_ just fine last night.” Grantaire said, words slowing as Combeferre’s lips inched nearer and nearer to his.

“God, keep in your pants, you two.” Musichetta was standing in the hallway, clad in a silky robe, hair messy in a way that actually made it look like she’d been having sex, rather than electrocuted, as always happened with Grantaire.

Combeferre laughed. “Like you can talk.”

Musichetta grinned at him. “I can’t keep it in my pants if I’m not wearing any.” She flounced off, clutching the robe around herself, to where her two lovers were apparently waiting in her room.

Grantaire rested his chin on Combeferre’s shoulder. “I wish we had our shit together as well as those three.”

 

* * *

 

When Grantaire met up with Enjolras the next day to film the first video for _les Amis_ \- which was the name their group had decided on; there was more to the name, and something involving a pun, but Grantaire had already forgotten it - he seemed a different person. Enjolras always had a certain glow to him, a bright-burning fervour that seemed out of place in a teenager, but the fire seemed to be brighter than ever when he had a passion project. Next to him, Grantaire felt plain and boring, and did the best he could to keep up.

“Thank you.” Enjolras said, once they’d finished filming. The line was delivered with utmost sincerity, and Grantaire’s heart jolted. “This wouldn’t be possible without you.”

Grantaire shook his head. “You might not get as much publicity without me, but this is all because of you, Enjolras. You’re-” Grantaire wasn’t sure if he should say it or not, but _fuck it_ , it was true. “You’re amazing.”

Enjolras’ eyes widened. “‘Aire…” They were standing so close that Grantaire could count the freckles dusting his cheekbones, a sprinkling of brown over lighter brown. “Thank you.”

Grantaire felt the breath shudder out of him, and stepped back. It took almost all of his willpower not to ask Enjolras if he could kiss him, but he didn’t want to do anything without Combeferre there.

“Right. Well.” Enjolras’ voice was controlled, features carefully blank. “I should get going. We want to have this edited and ready to go in time for Cosette’s big announcement.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll see you around, E.”

Enjolras didn’t respond, already gone.

Grantaire stood there for a long moment, his stomach sinking, unable to ignore the feeling that he’d fucked up whatever tentative _thing_ he might have had with Enjolras.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearly there!! Thanks to everyone who's commented/bookmarked/subscribed/left kudos, it always means a lot to me <3
> 
> Warning for a homophobic attack on a character in this chapter. The attack isn't super explicit and can probably be skipped, I'll put more info in the end notes if you need it.

Enjolras wasn’t waiting inside the car on Monday morning.

“Enjolras wanted to get to school early, he had something to work on.” Feuilly explained, when Grantaire climbed into the car looking confused.

“Oh,” Grantaire said, “Okay.” But it wasn’t okay. He’d fucked up, and now Enjolras was avoiding him because of it. He barely even noticed them pulling up to Combeferre and Musichetta’s apartment building, and jumped when the door opened.

“Musichetta’s walking with her new beaus.” Combeferre explained, sliding into the seat next to Grantaire. “Where’s Enjolras?”

“I think it’s my fault. I-” Grantaire paused, and raised the partition, since Feuilly and Bahorel were well known to be nosy shits. “I nearly kissed him yesterday, and I think I freaked him out. I’m pretty sure he’s avoiding me now.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Combeferre said, pressing a kiss to Grantaire’s temple. “It’ll be alright.”

 

* * *

 

 

There wasn’t enough time to talk to Enjolras before class, and Grantaire spent all of English watching the back of Enjolras’ head as he dutifully took notes, quieter than he usually was. When the bell rang, Enjolras was quick to leave the room without even a glance in Grantaire’s direction, and made it halfway to his locker before Grantaire caught up with him.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable yesterday.”

Enjolras’ retreating figure froze. His shoulders dropped, and he turned to face Grantaire. “It’s fine, Grantaire.”

Grantaire flinched at the lack of emotion on Enjolras’ face, the bags under his eyes. This wasn’t fine, and Enjolras wasn’t fine. “It’s not, and I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have done-”

“You didn’t _do_ anything. It’s fine. There’s nothing to forgive.” Enjolras turned away again, his golden ponytail swishing around behind him. “I’ll see you around.”

Grantaire reeled back, as though he’d been slapped. He’d thought that if he could just talk to Enjolras, it would be alright. But it wasn’t; Enjolras hadn’t wanted to talk, hadn’t wanted to listen, and Grantaire had made everything worse. Maybe he’d misinterpreted everything with Enjolras. Maybe he’d just made it all up, because that was what he wanted to see.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire spotted Combeferre waiting for him at his locker, and all but collapsed into his arms. “I made it worse.”

“Well,” Combeferre brushed a wayward lock of hair out of Grantaire’s eyes. “Then we’ll make it better. The two of us, together.”

“I love you.” Grantaire said, stretching up to kiss Combeferre.

“And I you, which is why we’re going to fix this. I don’t like seeing you unhappy.”

Grantaire ignored the fluttery feeling in his stomach that appeared every time Combeferre told him he loved him. “And what about Enjolras?”

“I don’t like seeing him unhappy either.” Combeferre admitted. “I don’t think this is because he doesn’t want you, though, Grantaire. So don’t pull away from him now.”

“He’s the one pulling away from me.” Grantaire said stubbornly, but it wasn’t entirely true. He’d literally, physically been the one to pull away from Enjolras, and if Enjolras was interested in him - an _if_ of which Grantaire wasn’t entirely convinced - then it would have hurt. It did make sense. It just seemed entirely unbelievable. On the flip side, Enjolras could be responding in the same way because of unsolicited advances, but for once in his life Grantaire was giving optimism a shot. If Combeferre believed it, after all, it was bound to be true.

 

* * *

 

They caught Enjolras leaving campus at the end of the day, headphones in, walking angrily to a fast beat.

Enjolras didn’t even hear Combeferre when he called his name, and whirled around when Combeferre dashed after him and tapped his shoulder.

“What?” Enjolras asked, pulling a headphone out of his ear. His expression soured when he noticed Grantaire lingering behind Combeferre. “I’ve got to get home. Besides, we’ve already-” He broke off and let out a loud sigh, as if the right words weren’t coming to him. Grantaire found it jarring, if he was being honest.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s alright. Just please don’t shut us out.” Combeferre said, in that awful gentle tone of voice that Grantaire could never resist. Enjolras looked similarly weak, and ripped the other headphone out, shoving his phone in his pocket.

“Let’s go somewhere, so we’re not standing in the middle of the footpath.” Enjolras said, and turned back the way they’d came. When they reached school, he plonked himself down on a wall and raised an eyebrow at them. “Well?”

“We think there might have been a misunderstanding.” Combeferre said, sinking down next to him. Grantaire sat on the other side of Combeferre, unsure if Enjolras wanted to ignore him still.

“Yes.” Enjolras said, tone frosty, accent thickening. “A misunderstanding.”

“Can we just try to make this as clear as possible? I think we have our wires crossed.” Combeferre was still being as gentle as before, and Enjolras melted slightly.

“I’d rather not embarrass myself further.” Enjolras said, but he looked a little unsure.

Grantaire sighed. “Do you want me to go first and be the one to embarrass myself?”

Enjolra bit back a smile. “Yes. Please.”

“You live to see me suffer.” Grantaire said, raising his eyes to the heavens. “But sure. I really wanted to kiss you, okay, but I thought you would freak out and think I was trying to cheat on Combeferre, or something. So I didn’t, and I know you’re freaking out because I almost tried to kiss you, but I don’t know if it’s because you wanted me to kiss you, or because you didn’t.”

“Oh.” Enjolras looked down, a flush rising on his cheeks, grinning uncontrollably. “And Combeferre-?”

“I- _we_ have feelings for you. Romantic feelings. We don’t want to pressure you into anything, or make you uncomfortable, but we thought you should know.”

“And if those feelings are reciprocated?” Enjolras was still being uncharacteristically reticent, unable to meet either of their gazes.

“Then we can go on a date, if you want.” Grantaire said, head spinning. He wasn’t entirely sure that this was really happening, but he was just going to roll with it because things were going weirdly well for him.

“I’d like that.” Enjolras said, finally looking up at them. “But the press… I don’t mind, but it’s going to be way harder for you, Grantaire.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Well, we’ll just have to make a video on polyamory. And if we announce this just before Cosette’s engagement, maybe people will forget more quickly, and either way it’ll give us publicity for les Amis.”

Bahorel, who had been keeping his usual distance, rolled his eyes and muttered _finally_.

 

* * *

 

The three of them piled into the limo, where Feuilly said nothing when Enjolras asked him to take them to his apartment, just raised his eyebrows and exchanged a smirk with Bahorel.

The apartment was neat, with three bedrooms - one each for Enjolras, Cosette, and Valjean to stay in whenever they travelled to New York. The rooms were bright and airy, with a decent kitchen and enough living space, and it must have cost a fortune. Grantaire knew Valjean was loaded - well, Grantaire’s dad was the crown prince, so he couldn’t really talk - but this was a physical reminder of that wealth.

Grantaire didn’t get a lot of time to take in the subtle, tasteful decorating, because Enjolras was taking his hand and looking up at him through those dark lashes.

“Can I kiss you?”

Grantaire nodded, unable to form words, and Enjolras’ lips were against him, soft and tasting like chocolate, and _damn_ , Grantaire needed to get some of that lip balm. Then he brushed the errant thought out of his mind because he was _kissing Enjolras._

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you.” Enjolras admitted, unable to quite meet Grantaire’s gaze.

Grantaire stared at him, dumbfounded. “You called me an asshole and wanted to egg me.”

Combeferre snorted, and Enjolras tried to glare at him, but was smiling too hard.

“Well, you were a cute asshole. And when you said you’d let me talk politics with your dad.” Enjolras fanned himself, laughing. “You sure know what to say to a guy.”

Combeferre leaned against the wall, looking so gorgeous that Grantaire was struggling not to jump him. “Talk politics to me, baby.”

“Shut up.” Enjolras said, unable to stifle the grin that was spreading across his face. “Then you had that video and I just-” Enjolras buried his face in Grantaire’s shirt.

“Well,” Grantaire hoped that Enjolras couldn’t feel how fast his heart was beating, with him so close, “However are you going to manage with les Amis if talking about equality gets you hot?”

A muffled _shut up_ was spoken into Grantaire’s shirt while Grantaire exchanged a helpless look with Combeferre, unable to believe that this was really happening.

 

* * *

 

There was a media scandal, of course, with America’s favourite royal in a relationship with _two_ men. The fact that neither of them were white and Enjolras was trans didn’t really help things in the eyes of certain parts of the public. Grantaire didn’t give a flying fuck. He loved them, and was happily dating both of them, and had announced the relationship on his terms. Why should what other people thought matter to him?

“Love suits you,” his mother said one evening, when Grantaire came home after a date, unable to stop smiling.

“They make me happy.” Grantaire said simply.

“I know. And I’m happy for you.” She kissed the top of his head. “I know things have been tough this year, but I’m so proud of how you’ve handled it all. I’m proud of _you_ , ‘Aire.”

Grantaire smiled, his eyes feeling suspiciously wet. “Thank you, Maman.”

 

* * *

 

Grantaire was washing his hands when heard someone behind him hiss a particular slur that he didn’t ever want to hear again, and before he could see who it was, his head was being slammed into the sink. Everything was a dark and hazy blur after that, and Grantaire sort of remembered Bahorel throwing the door open and racing into the bathroom, torn between chasing down the attacker and making sure Grantaire was okay. The guy sprinted away as Bahorel sank to the floor beside Grantaire, and Grantaire couldn’t really ascertain what happened after that, although there were flashes of worried faces and an ambulance at some point. When he came to properly, it was in a hospital bed, with his parents sitting beside him, worried, and a headache like no other.

Grantaire tried to get his mouth to ask what had happened, or how long he’d been out, or any number of useful things, but all that came out was a groan.

“‘Aire, honey, you’re awake.” His mother rushed to his bedside, and Grantaire managed to actually find words this time.

“What happened?”

“Someone at your school attacked you while you were in the bathroom. You were unconscious for a little while, but you’ll recover fine. You’ve got some stitches where you hit the sink, and it might leave a bit of a scar. Apart from that, you’re going to be alright, and they shouldn’t keep you here too much longer.”

“Oh.” Grantaire’s head hurt, and he said so.

His dad pressed the button to call a nurse, and soon someone came bustling in to check on him, with promises of bringing different painkillers when they returned.

Grantaire drifted a little while being checked over, and his focus didn’t improve any once the drugs kicked in.

Eventually, however, he was allowed to go home, and they met up with a worried Combeferre and Enjolras outside.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Combeferre said, hanging back, as if worried he was going to hurt Grantaire somehow.

Grantaire managed to build up the energy to offer him a small smile. “So am I.”

Enjolras’ brow was furrowed, but it smoothed a little with Grantaire’s smile. “Do you want some time alone, or do you want us to give you some company?”

“Company, please.” Grantaire said. “I can’t promise I’ll be a thrilling conversationalist, but I want to have you guys around.”

They piled into the limo, and Grantaire leant against Combeferre’s shoulder, Enjolras’ hand in his. Grantaire’s parents sat across from them, the middle seat empty, and there were still lines of worry etched into their faces, but it was easy to tell they were relieved.

 

* * *

 

Tucked into his bed, half-asleep, Grantaire could hear Combeferre and Enjolras talking in low voices.

“I was so scared, ‘Ferre, what if he had-” Enjolras’ voice shook, and Grantaire wanted to get up and hug him, but sleep was already drawing him under, and his arms were so heavy. He managed to crack open his sluggish eyelids, and Enjolras was clutching tight to Combeferre, shaking. Combeferre was tense, radiating worry and anger with every muscle in his body. Grantaire pitied anyone who might have to face Combeferre’s wrath.

“He’s okay, Enjolras.” Grantaire’s lids fluttered shut at Combeferre’s soothing voice. “He’s okay.”

The bed dipped next to Grantaire, and he drifted off to fingers running through his hair, giving the wound a wide berth.

 

* * *

 

The guy who had attacked Grantaire didn't even have a name Grantaire recognised, when the principal called to inform him that his attacker had been expelled for the assault. Wearily, Grantaire had thanked the school for letting him know, then gone back to his preferred activity - snuggling with his boyfriends. He had the rest of the week off school, for which he was thankful. Even if it weren’t for the whole being knocked out thing, princely duties and les Amis as well as navigating the start of a  relationship with two other people was getting kind of exhausting. His mother took some time away from her studio, and they watched terrible movies and talked and hung out, since they hadn’t had the time to do much of that recently.

Either Combeferre or Enjolras - occasionally both, if Grantaire was lucky - came to visit Grantaire after school each day, and Grantaire kept his million or so twitter followers updated with selfies and endless tweets. Lying around watching movies lost its novelty after a while.

Concern flooded in worldwide, and frankly it rattled Grantaire a little, to know that he had this much influence. He got hundreds of tweets each day from kids saying that him coming out inspired them to do the same, or asked for support if their friends and family weren’t okay with it. After Grantaire posted saying, _hitting me isn’t going to make me straight, it just makes you an asshole wow surprise,_ he was inundated with anger on his behalf.

“This is so weird.” Grantaire said one afternoon, Enjolras curled against his side as he checked his various social media accounts. It was just the two of them, since Combeferre had a test the next day to study for.

Enjolras shook his head, smiling at Grantaire. “Now will you believe me if I say you’re amazing?”

“What? Why?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras shifted so he could kiss Grantaire on the cheek, an inch or two below the wound on his forehead that had nearly closed over. “You got assaulted because of your sexuality, and you’re only speaking out louder because of it. So many kids look up to you, you know.”

“But why?” Grantaire set his laptop aside, overwhelmed. “I’m just _me_ , I’m nothing special.”

“There is no such thing as _just_ you, you’re you, and that’s amazing.” Enjolras wrapped an arm around Grantaire, cuddling him as aggressively as possible.

Grantaire shook his head but didn’t push the point.

While Grantaire was of course angry at being attacked, he was more terrified that Enjolras or Combeferre might be at risk - neither of them had bodyguards, after all - and he didn’t know he’d cope if they were hurt because of him. His head ached, though, and it wasn’t the time for thinking, but rather enjoying the quiet moment despite the chaos of his life, wrapped in Enjolras’ arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything from "Grantaire was washing his hands" onwards deals with the attack (with only the first paragraph actually containing the attack itself, and even then it's not gory or detailed). The last couple of sections mostly deal with the fallout of the assault, but aren't super central to the plot so if that makes you uncomfortable in any way, it can be skipped and everything should still make sense. If you need more info, please let me know!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't too happy with the previous chapter (and neither were you guys, if the drop in kudos is anything to judge by) so I hope this chapter makes up for it. Thanks for sticking with me throughout this fic, any kind of support means a bunch to me and it's way easier to be enthusiastic about writing if you know other people will appreciate it, so if you've taken the time for that I'm extremely grateful.  
> I have some other things I'm working on but they probably won't be released for a while since they have a looong way to come before I'll want to publish them but I'll try to write a couple of shorter fics in between!! 
> 
> Warning for a panic attack at the start of this chapter.

Grantaire went back to school on Monday. His stitches had been removed, but the healing wound was still obvious, and there had no doubt been some news coverage. All Grantaire wanted to do was hide, but people were everywhere, and they were all staring at him.

By the time that week’s les Amis meeting came around, Grantaire was almost crawling out of his skin with discomfort and anxiety. He couldn’t drag himself to the classroom down the hall and watch all those hopeful faces, not now he knew how much people wanted to hurt them. Grantaire might have had publicity that the others weren’t faced with, but they were all putting themselves in the public sphere, and Grantaire was the only white cis guy in the entire group. He was still getting to know everyone, but he cared about them all, and what if the people he loved were hurt? It would be because of him, because of his status as a public figure these days, and Grantaire wasn’t sure he could live with it. Heart racing, Grantaire ducked into the nearest bathroom - _fuck_ , the same bathroom, of course it was - and locked himself in one of the stalls. Bahorel followed him literally everywhere outside the house these days, and looked concerned, but stationed himself outside the cubicle, next to the sinks.

It was selfish, but Grantaire wanted his old life back, in many ways. He didn’t want all of this publicity, this responsibility. He just wanted… he just wanted to lie down and sleep for a thousand years, boyfriends at his sides.

Enjolras and Combeferre would never be content with such inaction, and if Grantaire hadn’t discovered his royalty, he might not have met Enjolras, or at least not as soon as he had. But maybe Enjolras would have been better off not meeting Grantaire, maybe he would have been safer.

And Grantaire was cycling back to that thought, that all his friends were going to get hurt because of this - because of _him -_  and then he couldn’t control his breathing and Bahorel was knocking on the door to the stall but Grantaire couldn’t move and there was the sound of the lock being twisted open from the outside and _everyone he loved was in danger_ and Grantaire barely reacted to the door banging open because he couldn’t breathe.

“Hey, you’re okay, Grantaire.” Bahorel crouched down next to Grantaire and took his hands. “It’s just a panic attack, have you had one of these before?”

Grantaire, throat and chest and head hurting from the air ripping down this throat, managed to shake his head.

“Alright, can you slow your breathing down yet?”

Grantaire shook his head. His chest was heaving, over and over and over in this awful repetitive motion that he couldn’t stop. His head was spinning, his fingers were tingling, and Grantaire didn’t feel like he was in his body anymore.

“Try and match my breathing. It’s okay if you can’t do it at first, just give it a go.”

Grantaire managed to gasp out a breath in time with Bahorel, and the unceasing rhythm of breathing started up after that, but it was one less awful breath.

“That was really good. Just remember that you’re here, in this frankly gross bathroom because teenage boys are disgusting, and you’re safe, and you’re okay. Now, can you try another breath for me?”

Grantaire’s breathing stuttered for a moment, then picked back up, but he tried again. This time, he managed to take a breath of his own, and another one, before the hyperventilation could take over again. But it was enough to break him out of the awful distance he felt from himself, and he took another slow, shuddering breath.

“There we go, that’s it.” Bahorel’s voice was unwaveringly calm, had been throughout, and Grantaire focused on it like a crutch. His breathing started to slow down, and he was embarrassed to find that his face was streaked with tears, and hurriedly wiped them away with the sleeve of his jumper.

“You alright?” Bahorel asked, releasing one of Grantaire’s hands to rest it on his shoulder.

Grantaire nodded. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologise, seriously. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, R, seriously. You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately and everyone’s impressed by how well you’re managing. This doesn’t change that.”

Grantaire ducked his head. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Bahorel stood, patting Grantaire’s shoulder. “Do you want me to text or call anyone for you, or do you just want to go home?”

Grantaire didn’t want to interrupt Enjolras when he was in his element, as much as he would have liked to see him, and know he was safe. “Maybe Combeferre? And then go home, I’m exhausted.”

Grantaire wasn’t sure his legs were going to hold his weight just yet, so he stayed sitting on the lid of the toilet and waited for Combeferre. Thankfully, it was after school, so there hadn’t been anyone to witness the panic attack apart from Bahorel, and there was nobody there to give him weird looks as he sat there in an open stall.

It was only minutes before Grantaire could hear the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Combeferre running, once again, to make sure Grantaire was alright. The door swung open, and Grantaire hunched back on himself. He felt stupid, and silly, and he was just bothering Combeferre, wasting his time time. He was fine, so why did he have to-

“Grantaire.” Combeferre’s voice, tight with worry, interrupted Grantaire’s thoughts. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. Are you going to be okay?”

Not _are you okay?_ For which, really, Grantaire was grateful. He wasn’t okay right now, and Combeferre could see it, but he would eventually be okay. “Yeah. I just freaked out a little.”

Then Combeferre’s arms were around Grantaire, and the worry simmering away in his chest tamped down the smallest bit.

 

* * *

 

“We need to talk about this, Grantaire.”

They were stuck in the limo, so it wasn’t like Grantaire could physically escape from this conversation, and just settled for avoiding Combeferre’s concerned gaze. “It’s nothing. I freaked over something stupid, and I’m fine.”

“What if it happens again?”

Damn it, having two boyfriends sucked. They could both gang up on him, and that wasn’t fair. “Then I sit it out, and I’ll be alright.”

Enjolras placed a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. “Please talk to us about this, Grantaire. You’ve had a bunch of shit happen recently and we’re worried about you. We’re not trying to attack you here.”

Grantaire sighed. “I’m just… I’m scared, okay?”

“Bahorel will-”

“Not for me,” Grantaire interrupted Combeferre. “For all of you. I don’t care if I get injured, I’m not important. But if something happened to any of you, it would be my fault.”

“You are important, R and it really wouldn’t.” Enjolras said. “Look, remember when I was freaking out because I felt responsible for Fantine’s death, and you two were adamant that it wasn’t? This is the same kind of thing. We’re doing this of our own volition, ‘Aire, and if anything happens to any of us - and for the record, I don’t think it will - then it is not your fault.”

“Okay.” Grantaire nodded, even if he couldn’t quite accept it yet. “And there was… I don’t want all of this attention anymore. I don’t want to have heaps of people looking up at me, because I’m not a good role model. I’m- I’m tired of it.”

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras’ eyes were downcast. “I was thinking so much about publicity for les Amis, I didn’t consider how it would affect you. If you don’t want to be part of it-”

“No.” Grantaire hurriedly interrupted him. “That’s one of the few good things I’ve done in my life. I don’t regret that. But I might, I don’t know, take a break from social media. Besides, if we’re successful with this project, then people aren’t going to rely on me alone for advice and stuff, so that might take some of the pressure off. I don’t know. I’m just tired.”

“It’s nearly break, so we can take some time off from everything.” Combeferre said, then reconsidered. “Well, you guys can. I have to keep up with schoolwork because senior year fucking _sucks_ , but I might be persuaded to join you guys for a bit.”

“We can’t take that much time off, we’ve only got a week. Cosette’s engagement party is all the way over in Genovia, and we’ve got to launch les Amis.” Grantaire sighed. “It’s alright. It’s all good stuff, and I’m happy to do it. It’s just a lot.”

“Let us know if it’s too much.” Enjolras said, taking Grantaire’s hand in his. “Your mental health needs to come first.”

“I don’t know, maybe I’ll talk to Maman about seeing someone when I get back.” Grantaire tried to blink away the tears that were suddenly pooling in his eyes, and one dropped down his cheek.

Combeferre’s smile was soft. “That sounds like a good idea.”

“I-” Grantaire took a deep breath. “Thank you, really. Both of you. I don’t know how I would have got through all of this weirdness without you.”

 

* * *

 

“Relax, sweetie,” Cosette said, adjusting Grantaire’s tie, “All you have to do is stand there and look pretty.”

They’d flown to Genovia in the royal jet for Cosette’s engagement party, and Grantaire was kind of overwhelmed knowing that he was back here, that these people might one day be his subjects.

“Well, half of that isn’t possible for me.” Grantaire mumbled. The new scar on his face wasn’t exactly contributing anything to his looks. He was met with a gentle swat from Enjolras.

“That’s completely untrue.” Enjolras said.

“Aww, babe, you think I’m pretty?” Grantaire fluttered his lashes, and Enjolras rolled his eyes but pulled him in for a kiss, a quiet _yes_ whispered against Grantaire’s lips.

“You saps.” Cosette said, smoothing down her dress, the gigantic diamond on her finger winking in the the light. “This is meant to be my moment to be all cute and romantic.”

“Go ahead, I’ll be here with my boyfriends.” Combeferre appeared, looking impeccably handsome in a navy suit.

“Unfortunately, I need to steal them from you. Actually, you can come too, you look gorgeous.” Cosette made a gesture for them to follow her, and they walked together into the ballroom, where all sorts of frighteningly famous people were congregating.

Then Cosette swept away to face the room, looking every bit like she belonged.

Grantaire held out a hand for each of his boyfriends to take, and they met the crowd as a united front.

 

* * *

 

The crowd quieted as Cosette took her place at the front of the room, Marius at her side, and Grantaire could tell that he, Enjolras, and Combeferre were all visible in the background of the shot - Cosette, of course, had invited a camera crew. Courfeyrac, stationed behind the cameras, was beaming.

“Thank you all for coming,” Cosette began, and Grantaire almost immediately lost track of what she was saying, because standing right in the front of the crowd was Felix Tholomyes.

“ _Listen_.” Enjolras hissed in Grantaire’s ear, and he immediately paid attention to what Cosette was saying.

“...want to take the opportunity to thank someone who has made being here possible, who changed my life. My father, Jean Valjean.”

Tholomyes, who had been smiling throughout the speech, froze, and Valjean entered the room arm in arm with a police officer that Grantaire vaguely recognised as having been lingering around the Valjean residence last time he’d visited.

Valjean murmured something to the man at his side. Their fingers brushed, then Valjean went to join Cosette at the front of the room. The police officer - _Javert,_ Enjolras informed Grantaire in a low voice, and he remembered now - went to stand behind Tholomyes.

“After my mother died, this man took me and my brother in as his own children. No thanks, I might add, to my birth father, Felix Tholomyes, who - among other things - blackmailed me into public appearances as his daughter. Javert, I’ll hand over to you.”

“Felix Tholomyes, you are under arrest…” Grantaire couldn’t even hear the rest of the sentence due to the shocked gasps and murmurs that turned to shrieks of outrage as Tholomyes was led from the building.

“He’s been hiding out recently, this is the first time in weeks Javert’s known his location for sure.” Enjolras said, grinning wickedly. “I’m guessing we might get a fair bit of coverage for tonight.”

Combeferre laughed out of shock and surprise, and they all turned back to Cosette, who was still at the front of the room, waiting for the crowd to settle.

“Goodness,” Cosette said mildly, “Now that that unpleasant business is done with, I would like to continue to the actual occasion being celebrated, which is my upcoming union to one Marius Pontmercy. So, please, enjoy yourselves.” Cosette stepped away and took the hand of a rather pale Marius, and led him towards the dance floor, where they were quickly swarmed.

“And I thought I was dramatic.” Grantaire said. “Would you like to dance?”

“You two go first, I want to talk to Cosette.” Enjolras said, and saw them off with a quick kiss each, caught in a riot of flashes by the group of photographers that had been hired for the occasion.

“Shall we?” Grantaire asked Combeferre, holding out a hand.

“I’m not a very good dancer.” Combeferre said, but took Grantaire’s hand and followed him to the dance floor.

Grantaire smirked. “Lucky for you, my dear, I am an _excellent_ dancer.” It felt strange to be leading someone who was nearly a head taller than him, but it worked, and they twirled around the room elegantly, both of them laughing and smiling, all cares forgotten in that moment.

“Mind if I cut in?” Enjolras appeared next to them at the end of the song, and Combeferre begged off, saying he’d danced enough for the evening.

“I’ll get you out here again tonight if it’s the last thing I do.” Grantaire warned, and Combeferre shook his head fondly. Grantaire blew him a kiss before diving back into the crowd of dancers with Enjolras in tow.

“You two looked gorgeous out here.” Enjolras said. It was a slow song, and he was pressed closely against Grantaire. “I keep feeling like this is unreal. I came out last year and I didn’t have any friends. If they weren’t bigoted, people still avoided me because I was too intense, apparently. Cosette was always off with Marius, so I didn’t even have her. I was miserable. But now…”

“We all love you, Enjolras. And you’re never going to be lonely again.” Grantaire brushed his lips against Enjolras’ forehead. “No matter what happens, I can promise that much.”

“I believe you.” Enjolras said, and although there was still sadness in his eyes, there was love and happiness there too. Grantaire spun him, and he laughed giddily, golden hair coming loose from its braid.

“You’re beautiful.” Grantaire said, once Enjolras was back in his arms. “I don’t know why you and Combeferre chose me, but I must be the luckiest guy in the universe.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Enjolras said, grin crooked.

Grantaire snorted, but didn’t argue the point. “You charmer, you.”

 

* * *

 

They all technically had separate rooms at the palace, but it wasn’t like they were being guarded or anything, and it wasn’t hard for Combeferre and Enjolras to sneak into Grantaire’s bedroom later that night. Grantaire’s room had the biggest bed, and there was plenty of space for each of them to sprawl out. Not that they were particularly interested in lying separately right at that moment.

They had all taken their time exploring sex together. Grantaire was the most experienced of them, but he hadn’t had penetrative sex before, and they spent a lot of time reading about things, making out and getting each other off as they discussed what they wanted to do.

Enjolras had been particularly hesitant to start with, but had soon discovered what he liked, and Grantaire still had trouble believing this was real, with Enjolras riding him, eyes half-closed, mouth slack as he moaned.

Once they had all come, Enjolras took off his binder in the dark and stretched, back stiff, then lay face-first on the bed. “Okay,” he said, half-mumbling into the pillows, “I’m ready for my massage.”

Combeferre snorted at the presumption, but flicked on a lamp and straddled Enjolras’ ass, cock hardening with interest as he massaged the smooth expanse of Enjolras’ back.

“Massage first, cowboy.” Enjolras said. “Then we can go again.”

Grantaire laughed, and watched on as Enjolras moaned, first at being massaged, and then at being fucked into the mattress.

Thankfully, Grantaire had an en suite, so there was nobody to notice when Enjolras got up on unsteady legs to use the bathroom - “I am _not_ getting a UTI,” he said, clad only in a far too loose t-shirt of Combeferre’s that slipped over a bare shoulder. Enjolras came back to bed smelling of toothpaste, and gave each Grantaire and Combeferre a kiss, before falling promptly asleep.

 

* * *

 

Combeferre had to leave to go back to New York in the morning, since he couldn’t afford to spend much more time away from his school work, while Grantaire would be spending the next couple of days in Genovia. Enjolras and Grantaire saw him off at the airport, and Combeferre promised to skype with them, and to convince Musichetta and her boyfriends to skype with Grantaire too, since the four of them got along famously.

“I’ll see you soon.” Grantaire said, and let out a noise of surprise when Combeferre pulled him in for a deep kiss. By the time he moved away, Grantaire knew his face was bright red, and people were staring. There were a few phones out, and Grantaire wouldn’t really be surprised if photos of them would be circulating by the time he would be able to check his phone.

“My turn.” Enjolras all but shoved Grantaire out of the way to kiss Combeferre, up on his tiptoes to reach. Combeferre still had to bend down for it to be comfortable.

“I have to go.” Combeferre said regretfully, once Enjolras had let go of him. “I’ll miss you both.”

Grantaire let out a sound that was suspiciously like a sniffle - it wasn’t a sniffle, it _wasn’t_ \- and found Enjolras’ arm quickly twined around his waist.

“I guess we should go back to the-” Enjolras grimaced, like he always did when he said the word, “palace.”

“Nah.” Grantaire said, Bahorel following as they made their way out of the airport. “Let’s go have fun.”

Having fun was, apparently, easier said than done. The news of the arrest at Cosette’s engagement party had spread, and they were met with whispers and stares. They tried to walk along one of Genovia’s famous beaches, but were quickly mobbed, and gave up soon after. Feuilly drove them back to the palace, but they didn’t enter the main residence just yet, choosing instead to take a walk through the grounds. Bahorel still followed them at his usual discreet distance, but he brought Feuilly along with him, and it was almost like a double date. Almost.

 

* * *

 

The flight back to New York was spent with Grantaire clinging to Enjolras’ hand for dear life on the ascent and descent, since he’d never been a great flier.

Combeferre was waiting for them at the airport, from where they travelled to Enjolras’  apartment to meet up with les Amis before the launch the next day. As it transpired, Tholomyes had bribed a bunch of government officials to ensure that Fantine didn’t get the support she deserved, and the press was going wild attacking the man whom they had venerated in the past. There were still a multitude of articles detailing Grantaire and Cosette’s movements and clothing choices and social media posts, so they were in a good place to get plenty of publicity for their first video.

They planned the release to a T, then went over the plans one more time, before calling it a night and settling down as a group for a _Star Wars_ marathon.

Combeferre, being a massive nerd, was watching avidly despite knowing the movies off by heart, while Enjolras and Grantaire drowsed on his shoulders, jetlagged as they were.

 

* * *

 

After a quick breakfast, they uploaded the video, and all they could do was wait. They watched it as soon as it launched, and it was painfully obvious that it had been filmed before Enjolras, Combeferre and Grantaire had started dating. There was a careful distance between Enjolras and Grantaire, and Grantaire winced at all the lovelorn glances past-him was sending Enjolras when he thought he wasn’t looking. Enjolras sent a surprising number back, too, which Grantaire hadn’t noticed on the day.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice how you feel about me.” Enjolras murmured, while the on-screen Grantaire stared at him in wonder. “You were really obvious about it.”

As it turned out, they didn’t have to wait long, and Courfeyrac and Enjolras were busy the rest of the day fielding calls, while the rest of them lounged around the apartment, chipping in when help was needed, and occasionally refreshing the pages to check their views and comments.

Grantaire’s twitter blew up, unsurprisingly, and as soon as he tried to look at the tweets he’d received, he was swamped with more of them. He answered the most relevant and interesting ones as best he could, and sent out a generic _thanks for the support_ tweet. Within twelve hours, the video had hundreds of thousands of views, and their subscriptions were climbing almost as quickly. Of course, not all of the comments were positive, but negative reactions were overwhelmingly in the minority.

Enjolras had to sit down, unable to take in the impact his idea was having, and was quickly consumed by a sprawling group hug.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire couldn’t believe it at the time, but he would have actually rathered to be at school than doing the press circuit. Even with Enjolras at his side, fielding as many questions as he could, it was terrifically dull and repetitive.

After days of seemingly non-stop interviews, they were finally, _finally_ done, and school started again.

Of course, les Amis was a continued, concerted effort, and it didn’t stop once they went back to school. Enjolras was flat out with organising rallies and fundraisers for LGBTQIA shelters, having been clear that education was only the first step, and there were plenty of other practical things they could do to make an impact.

They were all busy with school and les Amis and various other activities, but Grantaire surprisingly didn’t mind the rush. It was more as though his life was full, that the opportunities princehood provided had filled up all of the gaps in him that he didn’t know he had. Despite the fact that the pressure sometimes got to him, that sometimes Enjolras or Combeferre had to hide out in the bathrooms with him while he freaked out before a press conference, he was happier than he’d ever been. He still worried about the others, still wanted to shield them all from any harm, but it was becoming easier to remember that they all chose this, that they all wanted to change the world.

And even in amongst all the bustle of their lives, there was time for moments like these, when Combeferre would put down his books and say _fuck it_. Enjolras soon followed suit, and wrestled the sketchpad from Grantaire’s hands, taking care not to smudge his art, even though Grantaire knew it wasn’t worthy of Enjolras' level of care and amazement.

There was no need for any of them to speak, and Grantaire just let himself be pressed back against the pillows of Enjolras’ bed, fingers leaving smudges of graphite on Combeferre’s crisp white shirt. They were slow, unhurried, and were more concerned with exploring each others’ bodies than orgasms. Not that Grantaire would ever complain about watching Enjolras shake apart, or the way that Combeferre let go of his careful control the moment before he came, exposed and raw. They fell asleep tangled together, and Grantaire’s mind was finally quiet when he woke to the rise and fall of Enjolras’ chest, clad in one of Grantaire’s t-shirts, and the softness of Combeferre’s eyes as he watched the two of them. There was much to be done, over the coming days and weeks and years, but they could have this, and many more quiet mornings to come.


End file.
